Low Tide by Justin Grimbol

Low Tide
A razor clam cuts my finger. Blood drips down my wet hand. It stings badly but my girlfriend calls me a pussy before I get a chance to complain.‘You are so mean!’I tell her.'Why don’t you go write about it in one of your poems?' She says.

a fifty word short story published in 50 to 1.

PIANO MUSIC

published in Green Mountain Colleges literary journal THE REVERIE


Look at that. Look at that.
Those two are fucked; they
have a fucken piano on
their head---smashed. they
got a knife in the leg, and a sword
in the arm. All sorts of bruises:
that's what they have; a brick in
the fucking gut...yes, they got a brick
deep in their gut. That lady doesn't
have a leg, and that guys missing
an arm. They don't care. they don't care.
They love each other very much and
sometimes they fuck.
They fuck like crazy maniacs.
they fuck like maniac mechanics.
they fuck like a tool box.
they fuck like nail gun; and come.
Oh man, they come so hard entire
body parts fall off. Oh man, they
come so hard entire piano's
break over their head.